


While I Dream of Yuletide Treasure

by Thuri



Category: Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-26
Updated: 2005-03-26
Packaged: 2017-11-08 07:48:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/440892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thuri/pseuds/Thuri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few days into the journey from Rivendell, Merry's mind turns to the past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	While I Dream of Yuletide Treasure

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://charlietudor.livejournal.com/profile)[**charlietudor**](http://charlietudor.livejournal.com/) for the beta. This was my entry to the [Remix, Redux III: Reloaded](http://remix.illuminatedtext.com/index.php) challenge. I remixed a drabble by [](http://mordelhin.livejournal.com/profile)[**mordelhin**](http://mordelhin.livejournal.com/), [Merry's Yule](http://www.livejournal.com/users/mordelhin/40124.html).

Merry tugged his cloak closer around himself against the harsh wind, sharply missing the Hall of Fire at Rivendell, days behind them now. The warmth, the stories, Bilbo nodding over a pipe . . . It seemed almost home, even with the odd and musical lilt of elven laughter. Home. Where the Yule celebrations would be well underway, by now, if his reckoning was correct. How odd it was, to be spending the night before Yule itself trudging through a frozen waste, wind seeking out every seam in his clothing, doing its level best to freeze him solid.

This wasn't what Yule was supposed to be, he thought around a yawn, stumbling slightly until Boromir put his hand out, steadying him. Yule was supposed to be giddy anticipation, waiting to see what presents the next day would bring, as when he was nine, and Frodo had carved that exquisite cart and pony for him. He'd known it was something special, was so grateful his cousin had come home from Bag End to spend the holiday with them. He'd barely been able to sleep, finally sneaking off to Frodo's room to try and quiz him.

Frodo had chuckled, and let Merry climb in with him, but resisted all his best attempts to find out. He'd tickled him, and told him he'd "done the big-eyed pout quite often, Merry Brandybuck, and do you really think it's going to work on me?"

But Frodo hadn't sent him away, and Merry'd decided sleeping with his cousin again, when he'd been gone so long, was good enough substitute. Until morning, of course.

Merry stumbled again, yawning, looking hopefully to the eastern sky. When it lightened, they'd be able to rest. No such luck yet, though.

His mind went back in time again, even as his eyes struggled to pierce the darkness around his feet, as he put one in front of the other over and over.

Yule had been even more fun, as Pippin grew older. His baby cousin, always laughing and full of life. He loved feasts of all kinds, of course, but those six days . . . They were all of Pippin's favourite things rolled into one. The food, the presents, the greenery and family and laughter and stories all together. And the possibility–however small–of snow always had him bouncing even more.

Pippin's excitement was always contagious, and Merry'd happily joined in. More than once, he'd been scolded for tormenting Pippin, by teasing him with knowledge of his presents. And more often than that the two of them had been caught peeking, or searching for them, or nicking Yule cakes out of turn, or a hundred other ways a small hobbit lad and his mischievous older cousin could get themselves into trouble.

Merry sighed, now, watching Pippin in front of him. His head was bowed against the wind, and he hadn't spoken up since they'd started walking that night. No surprise, really, Gandalf and Aragorn encouraged silence, but . . . Merry could do with hearing his small cousin's voice raised in song, just then.

And aside from the mischief, there'd been quieter moments. The year Pippin had climbed into bed with Merry, to keep him from being scared by nightmares, he'd said solemnly, and then retold all the stories Merry'd been telling the lad for so long. He'd looked up with scared, shining eyes, and said "this was your Yule present and I hope you liked it because I love you very much and you're my favourite cousin only don't tell Frodo."

Merry'd hugged him close and promised he wouldn't, and that, indeed, Pippin's present was the best he'd ever received.

Finally, the sky lightened, morning came, and Gandalf halted the company. They made their cold camp, ate a sparing meal, and settled down with their blankets. Merry huddled close to Pippin, sharing their warmth. His cousin smiled at him, cheeks red with cold, his eyes bright. He kissed Merry quickly, shyly, still unsure of the men around them. "Happy Yule, Merry," he whispered.

Merry smiled, and pulled him closer. "Happy Yule, Pip," he whispered back, kissing him again, more tenderly. Pippin's mouth was so warm . . .

 

And, as he fell asleep, Merry's mind went to his happiest Yule. Three years before. Pippin had told Merry he had a special present for him, and he'd have to wait until after the family had finished exchanging the rest. Merry'd raised an eyebrow, but agreed, and gone along to Pippin's rooms with him after a late smoke.

There his cousin had turned to him, fiddling with his pipe. And, after opening and closing his mouth several times, had muttered "muck it all," and thrown himself at Merry, kissing him firmly.

 

 

Merry smiled, still half awake, as Pippin cuddled still closer, until their blankets were around them both, and they were pressed tightly together. "Love you, Pip," he murmured softly.

"Love you, too, Mer," Pippin murmured back around a yawn. "You're still my best Yule gift ever. But you can give me the real one when we get up."


End file.
